The Second Time Around
by Honeyduke's Finest
Summary: The ghosts of the war won't leave her alone. Every night, in her dreams. Every day, in her thoughts. But everything is about to change. Time-travel, character death.


The Great Hall was a lot emptier than it should've been. Very few students returned to complete their seventh year. She scanned the Gryffindor table, hesitating at the edge where she used to sit with Harry and Ron, now claimed by first years. Her eyes were drawn to the spots the twins occupied during their Hogwarts years, loud and annoying and admittedly hilarious. Nothing like George was now. She could still see the lights flashing, the explosions, the blood, the screaming. _His_ high, cold voice rang in her ears, as he demanded Harry in return for their safety. Fear and loss mixed with a little hope. The Great Hall held many memories, and she was just as drawn to it as she was repulsed.

"Are you alright, Miss Granger?" Surprised, Hermione looked up. Sir Nicholas looked down at her, a small frown on his face. Realizing she'd been standing in the doorway of the Great Hall for a good five minutes, she gave a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine, thank you, Sir Nick,"

"Nice to see you for another school year," he said absently, and drifted down the corridor. Hermione strode into the Great Hall, attempting to ignore her conflicting feelings. However, they wouldn't allow themselves to be pushed aside. They lingered at the edges of her mind, deviant and malicious. Hermione caught sight of Ginny's trademark Weasley hair, and slid quickly into the empty spot next to her.

"Evening, Ginny," she whispered, just as the Hat began its yearly song.

"Wha- Oh! Hermione!" Ginny said, a little too loudly. Hermione flinched, and glanced at the teacher's table, but no scowling Snape sat at the table. McGonagall gave the two girls a stern look to compensate for the abnormal lack of venomous hatred. Ginny snickered. "McGonagall makes a hell of a Headmistress, doesn't she?"

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione corrected automatically. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Yes, then. _Professor_ McGonagall. She's terrifying the firsties already." Ginny grinned. Hermione hummed in agreement. She was tense, pressing the pads of her fingers against the table until they flattened, her nails turning as white as a corpse's pallid face. The echoes of death's footsteps had yet to fade from when it had stalked the school's stone floors. She could feel the remnants of fear pressing down upon her mind, drowning the peaceful atmosphere the Hall had once hosted. Ginny could feel it too, she could tell. Her freckles stood out from her pale cheeks. Her hands, always fluttering gestures as she spoke, now laid limply on the table. The purple smudges under her eyes, her appearance not as polished as it had once been. Her tone was cheery, but forced.

Just as Ginny's gaze locked on Hermione, Hermione glanced towards the front of the room, pretending she'd been looking at the Sorting all along. Hagrid was now the one awkwardly hovering next to the stool, waiting to place the hat on the next head. The first years wore absolutely horrified expressions due to the half-giant's impressive height, especially after he knocked over the stool with a newly proclaimed Ravenclaw still sitting on it. Hermione smiled slightly as she saw a boy fidgeting on the seat. Dark messy hair, painfully thin._  
_ "Gryffindor!" it roared. The boy lifted off the hat, a triumphant grin stretching across his face. He flipped his hair out of his blue eyes. _Almost_, she thought. _Almost_. The nostalgia was overwhelming.

"We really got a good haul of Gryffs this year!" Ginny said brightly as she scooped mashed potatoes on her plate.

"Yeah."

"Hey, can you pass me the sausages?"

How could Ginny stand it. How could she stand the vibrant atmosphere, the jokes, the laughter, the smiles and the 'welcome back' 's? How could she take part in it after knowing her brother never could again? How could she sit peacefully in the hall where so many were killed? Hermione's right hand strained under the weight of the steaming food, and Ginny grabbed the plate before it tumbled onto the polished table. Though she turned her face away, Hermione could see her friend frown in the corner of her eye. As if she had known what she was thinking, Ginny's faked enthusiasm dulled. Dinner was unusually silent.

* * *

She was never alone in the darkness. The first few seconds were always quiet. She stood stiffly. Confused and tense. The blackness was heavy, every breath of air was difficult to pull into her lungs. Then a little sound. A faint whine reverberated in her ear. She frowned and shook her head in annoyance. As the volume crept higher and higher she realized it was a young woman. Screaming. Hermione stumbled backwards at the revelation. The sound was creeping closer, louder and harsher, grating on her eardrums. She recognized the voice, but she couldn't remember whose it was. The screams were ones of pain. Of torture. It came from all angles, no matter which direction she turned. Running towards it, running away from it. It made no difference in the darkness of her dream. But either way she ran, clamping desperate hands over her ears.

And either way it caught her. There was a twisted sick feeling of anticipation as someone exhaled, a sigh. The screaming had stopped, and Hermione had frozen along with the sound. Warm breath tickled her ear. A slight tingle in her left arm. An itch. She touched the skin with trembling fingers, and drew back abruptly, surprised at its sudden tenderness. The skin ached and stung as if she'd scraped it against cement. She could still feel the presence, a person she could not see standing behind her. She felt an outline of a stronger pain in her arm. Her panic rose as the hurt sharpened suddenly, throbbing in rhythm with her pounding heart. Hermione cried out and tried to run once more, but now she could feel hands gripping her shoulder, nails sinking into her arms as- The pain burned now. Merlin, it burned as if somebody was digging a weapon in the soft flesh. A wild cackle she could barely hear over her screeches. A dark-haired figure materialized from the darkness, out of darkness. Bellatrix, a silver knife gripped tightly in her hand, a wide eager smile on her face.

Her eyes screwed shut, but when she opened them again, no Bellatrix stood in front of her carving the Dark Mark into her arm with a knife. But she was - "Never alone in the darkness. Yes. I know. Or, rather, I knew," the red-head paused in thought, "Ah, well. It's all very confusing really."

"Fred?" Hermione whispered, eyesight still blurred with tears.

"Hello, Hermione. Nice to see you again." he smiled, "The others'll be here soon enough. If you'll stay this time, that is," he stopped smiling, "You _are_ going to stay this time, right? I mean, I told everyone you would, it'd be an awful disappointment if..." he trailed off at the sight of her pale face. He reached out a hand, but hers skittered away, frightened. "Coming? C'mon, you can meet James, he's got a hell of a sense of humor. Did you know Harry's father was Prongs on the Marauder's Map? Nevermind. Course you did, you were Harry 's best friend, but why didn't you ever tell-"

"Are," she replied, now fully understanding. Voice wavering, quiet, but still firm, "Are."

"What?" Fred said.

"It's: 'You _are_ Harry's best friend.' "

"Oh. Oh, I see," he said, "You're not coming with us, then? You're...staying," Hermione nodded, scared that her voice would fail her. "Oh," He faded into the darkness. But she was never alone in the-

Hermione awoke with a shiver. She sat up in her bed, breathing quickly, the sticky remnants of tears on her cheeks. She couldn't go to sleep now. Not anymore. Not after that. She slid her wand out from under her pillow and murmured a quiet 'tempus'. Numbers sprouted before her, bright and glaring. 3:48. Three forty-eight. AM. Hermione lowered her wand and the light slowly melted away.

She couldn't stand the darkness.

"Lumos." she whispered. The glow was strong and comforting. She remained there, leaning against the headboard, legs curled up against her body, chin resting on her knees. Her wand's light didn't fade until morning.

* * *

It was pain. The desperation in their wild eyes and flushed cheeks. The fingers clawing and clutching, words being spat out only half-formed. Disfigured. Crippled. The disbelief and the racking sobs and the irrational anger. It was loss. It was always the dead, coming to ask her to follow them into the afterlife. It was Remus and Tonks. It was Fred Weasley and Colin Creevey and the Potters. It was Snape and Dumbledo-

"Ms. Granger?" A whisper right next to her ear. Hermione snapped out of her thoughts, to find her hands frozen in place above a simmering cauldron. She stared blankly at the wad of leaves bunched into her loose fists. "Ms. Granger, put in the hellebore." the professor said. Hermione unclenched her hands, revealing a severely deformed potions ingredient. The professor snorted, "Well nevermind then, that's no good anymore."

"I'm sorry, Professor Cavendish," Hermione said, flushing slightly in embarrassment. She placed the destroyed hellebore back on the table. "I'll go get some more." She rose from her seat. It was haunting her during the day now too. A hand grabbed her arm, making her jump.

"Are you alright?" the Potions professor asked in a quiet voice. Hermione nodded, and the grip loosened, though hazel eyes still searched her own. "Very well," the professor conceded, and walked on down the aisle, throwing Hermione one last bemused look.

Hermione started to head towards the rack of Potion's ingredients in the back of the classroom. The names rang in her mind, seemingly never ending. Dobby, Alastor Moody, Sirius- "Miss Granger?" Came a soft voice from the front of the room. Hermione snapped her head towards Cavendish's concerned face.

"Sorry," she said again, embarrassed as she found she'd been standing in front of the metal rack blankly.

"Are you sure you're alright? Perhaps a visit to Madame Pomfrey?"

"I'm fine, professor. I'm sorry, just a bit distracted. I'm just- I'm going to-" she stammered. The professor just nodded her head graciously, mouth quirked in amusement. Hermione quickly shut her mouth and with a stiff nod, turned back to the rack of ingredients, feeling like an idiot.

The new professor was nice, she thought, fighting back the remaining embarrassment. She started to scan the many glass jars for leaves of hellebore. Rather laidback, informal with students. Competent, as well. Hermione picked up the correct jar with satisfaction and unscrewed the lid. Nothing like Snape had been: though he definitely had known his subject well, he'd made a rude and biased teacher. But then again...He'd done so much for the war. Sacrificed so much. No. Hermione gathered the hellebore into her hand and walked towards her seat. She wasn't judging him as a person now, just as a teacher, and he _definitely_ had had _much_ to improve-

"Insolent as ever, Miss Granger," A deep voice hissed in her ear. She whipped around, scattering the hellebore, drenched in sick terror. Her fingers had jumped to her wand instinctively. But there was nobody towering threateningly over her. Nobody. "Nobody." She murmured to herself assuringly. Her heartbeat slowed, though her hand remained near her robe's pocket. She scanned the room, eyes darting like a cornered animal. Until they snagged on a dark-robed figure. She opened her mouth to scream, until she caught sight of the feminine face.

"Miss Granger?" Hermione cringed at the address. "Miss Granger? Merlin, you're so pale!" Hermione nodded weakly, still too shaken to speak, "If you really don't want to go to Madame Pomfrey, just head back to the Gryffindor Common Rooms," the professor continued in a low voice, "You can redo the potion tomorrow after your other classes."

Hermione opened her mouth to refuse politely, but then paused. Maybe it was for the best. She hadn't been getting much sleep, and now she was hearing things. "I...I suppose so,"

"Come back at six,"

"Thank you," Hermione said quietly. She headed to her seat and began gathering her things. Several pairs of curious eyes followed her movements. The professor reprimanded them in an unusually sharp tone.

"Mr. Hamilton! Mr. Jevenne! Eyes on your work! Careful, Turner, the color's a bit off, if it gets any darker you'll probably have to scrap it."

Hermione slipped from the room, and headed down the hallway. Snape was dead. Dead and long gone. Images of his sallow skin and snarling face jumped to the forefront of her memory. Sneering and menacing and greasy and sarcastic and biting and bitter and terribly brave. And _dead_. She grimaced as a cold fear wrapped itself like a scarf around her neck, tight and smothering.

She had heard his voice so clearly. It must have been because of the nightmares. That was all. She was stressed. For the past few nights she'd only slept for five or six restless hours, plagued by the dead in her dreams. And lack of sleep could lead to hallucinations.

"Why are you here? Don't you have class?" The Fat Lady's girlish voice cut in, edged by a sharp suspicion.

"My teacher let me out early. I'm not feeling well," Hermione said. Before the woman could try suggesting Madame Pomfrey, Hermione flung the password at her, swinging the painting open. Vibrant red and gold assaulted her eyes as she entered the Common Room. Nowadays, the colors seemed garish, too glaringly bright. It seemed full of forced cheer. Then again, maybe it was just her. They had replaced the furniture after the war, redone the room, tried to straighten out the somber atmosphere that lingered long after the blood had been scrubbed from all the walls. The grimness still remained. It was as if the school's walls had soaked in the spilled lives like sponges. Then again, maybe that was just her too.

Hermione started up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. A nap would do her good. She lifted the covers of her bed, slipping between the cold sheets, not even bothering to remove her shoes. Lethargy settled in her limbs. She nestled her head into the pillow. Just as her mind was edging away, a jagged fear pinned her to consciousness. At first, she simply turned over in her bed. It only dug itself deeper. Flashes of them. Vague figures at first, hazy and indistinguishable. But slowly she caught larger glimpses. Shocking red hair, piercing grey eyes. She saw a man falling through an archway. She saw a broken body lying beneath a tall tower. Gasping, she surfaced from her half-asleep state. Hermione propped herself up against the headboard, and waited until her turbulent emotions calmed. But the questions. Why is this happening? Do Harry, Ron or Ginny go through this? Does everyone go through this now? Should I take Dreamless Sleep potion? How will I explain my sudden need for them? Won't I get dependent? Are the dead actually talking to me? No, that's silly. _Are_ they? Why is this happening to _me_? Why won't it stop?

Tears of frustration were working their way down her cheeks. When the tears finally came to an end, leaving her face red and eyes swollen, one question remained clear in her mind:

What now?

* * *

Tossing and turning. Mumbling. A shriek. Hermione sat up in bed, shaking and covered with cold sweat. Her eyes ached with exhaustion. Her heart beating rapidly. Head throbbing. "Lumos," she whispered. The bright light burned her eyes. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Hermione wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. Her stomach chose that moment to make itself heard.

It was a good idea, at any rate. A midnight snack, time to calm down. Maybe then she could get in a few hours of restful sleep. Hermione pulled on a robe and stumbled to her suitcase, sinking to her knees as she fumbled with the latches. She slipped a cloak out, but it wasn't any old cloak: Harry's invisibility cloak. Along with it came the Marauder's Map. Harry had lent her his two prized possessions for her last year at Hogwarts. For 'midnight wanderings' he'd said with a cheeky grin. She might as well put them to good use.  
Hermione carefully wrapped the cloak around her form, making sure nothing was peeking out from the fabric. She tightened her grip on the Marauder's Map as she headed down the stairs and out of the Fat Lady's portrait.

The hallway was eerily quiet, a silence that was only interrupted by the occasional snores from the paintings. The map showed no teachers walking the halls. The only names out of place were the ones she assumed were out for a 'night of passion' in broom cupboards. And they were easily avoided. Her footsteps were muffled by a simple charm, her bushy hair was tied in a tight bun, and she was literally inching forward at the breakneck speed of a snail. But even though she had nothing to fear, her palms were still slick with sweat, and her eyes still fervently scanned the halls dimly lit by her lumos.

She paused and let out a shaky sigh. Her anxiety was only growing worse. Maybe it would be best to turn back. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply. Yes, maybe it would be best to- Her stomach growled disapprovingly. Hermione was attempting to focus a fiery glare at the rebellious organ, when her eyes caught on a name. On the map. Rapidly approaching.

"Merlin," She squeaked, backing up. Then, in horror, she reread the name. "What in the world?" The paper was now shuddering violently with the force of her trembles. She mouthed the name, disbelieving. Remus Lupin. Remus Lupin was approximately twenty feet away. She stared, panicked, past the range of her light into the darkness, trying to pick out his figure. Hermione saw only black. But- Was it just her imagination?- She could hear a faint tapping sound, like the soles of someone's shoes connecting with a stone floor repeatedly. Footsteps coming in her direction.

Adrenaline rushing through her, she began to run. Hermione dashed up stairs, down stairs. Around countless corners, through countless passageways. All the way she could hear loud footsteps, seemingly right behind her. Every time she dared a glance at the map, it showed the name persisting on her heels. Until she reached a hallway she knew well. Better than anyone in Hogwarts. The library's hallway. Unfortunately, there was no other door out of the library, no other escape route. But if she turned around now and attempted to dash past him, she'd be running right into his arms. There was only one way: forward.

Hermione burst through the library doors. Heart racing. Eyes wide with terror. Sucking in lungfuls of air through an open mouth. Then she made a split-second decision based on silly Gryffindor bravado. She turned around.  
The footsteps had stopped. There was only silence. She gazed into the darkness, holding her breath, but no form materialized. Hermione brought the map up to her eyes. Nobody. No name. No Remus Lupin. Relief washed over her. Her knees buckled, and she slid into a wooden library chair. Hesitantly at first, she moved, grabbing an ancient Transfiguration text from the shelves. There was no way she was wandering out into the hallways of Hogwarts again this night. She might as well study for tomorrow's test.

Within a few minutes she was fast asleep, cheek resting on the book's dusty pages.

* * *

She ran her hands through her hair, frustrated. She still had eight pages packed with dense theory to get through before her test tomorrow. This was what came of lending others her books in a moment of pity. The Ravenclaw, Hamilton, had lost his, and so she'd let him borrow hers after he pled with her for a good five minutes. She'd told him to return it the very next day, but what had he done? He'd given it back the day before the exam. Hermione stifled a cry of outrage, but couldn't stop one of surprise bursting from her mouth after a hand landed suddenly on her shoulder. Hermione leaned her head against the back of the seat in order to identify the person towering above her. Long red hair and soft brown eyes.

"Ginny. You scared me," she smiled, "Can you test me on Charms? I have eight more pages of theory to get through,"

"I'll test you later. Come upstairs for a little bit first, I have to show you something," Ginny said, tugging on Hermione's arm.

"I have so much work to do," Hermione said, "I really don't need distractions,"

"It'll only take a few minutes, I swear," Ginny insisted.

"No thanks,"

"Please," Ginny said, staring at Hermione with a grave look in her eyes, "It's important." Hermione hesitated before giving in. With a sigh she pushed back her chair and followed her friend up the stairs. As soon as she entered the room, Ginny slid the door shut. Hermione turned around, regarded Ginny with curious eyes.

"What? What is it?" she asked. Ginny sucked in a breath. Hermione stared intently, waiting. Ginny exhaled. Hermione's patience snapped.

"Ginny, I'm studying for a very important test tomorrow. I don't have time to listen about your escapades with Harry or whatever other-"

"Escapades?" a familiar voice hissed. Ron's unmistakable freckled face was sticking out of the fireplace, as red with anger as he could be given the green color of the flames. Harry was positioned right beside him, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"What are you two doing here?" Hermione spluttered, "What's going on?"

"Hermione," Ginny started, a faint blush still present in her cheeks, "We have to ask you something," She gave Ron a meaningful look. He seemingly swallowed his anger, though his eyes seemed to promise a future discussion. He turned his head towards Hermione. His gaze seemed to both soften with concern and harden with suspicion. Uncertainty left him with a slightly nervous air. Hermione felt anticipation swell painfully in her stomach.

"Erm…See, Hermione, the thing is we've been talking and-erm- Ginny told us what's been going on the past few days," At these words, Hermione's mouth went dry. Even if they did know, they couldn't know the reason. Even if they did, they couldn't. She reminded herself of the fact fervently. She calmed down relatively quickly, making sure her face was clear of incriminating emotions (such as the horror she was feeling) and said in a surprisingly steady voice:

"What? What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"I stayed up one night," Ginny said softly, "To watch."

"And? So?" Hermione demanded.

"She says you didn't come back until morning," Harry said. The moment after his accusation and before Hermione spoke was tense.

"I've gone to the library a few times this week to study, but I always come back before midnight," Hermione lied. They exchanged uncertain glances.

"I stayed up all night," Ginny said firmly.

"I guess you didn't see me then. I do bring Harry's invisibility cloak along, I wouldn't risk getting caught by teachers or anything," Hermione countered. Seeing their doubtful faces, she sighed and gave them a disapproving look as if to say '_you don't trust your own friend_?'. "Look, I'm fine. I don't really understand why you're so worried. What do you think I'm doing at night, anyhow? Partaking in blood rituals? Sacrificing innocent young souls to Satan?"

"Satan?" Ron whispered confusedly to Harry.

"Muggle belief," Harry whispered back. Hermione huffed at them and gave them her classic look: arms crossed, eyebrow raised disdainfully, head tilted upwards to give off an air of superiority. They cringed almost unnoticeably. Almost. Hermione felt herself gain back a bit of control in where the discussion was headed.

"Really, the three of you," she said sharply, "Is that why you called me up here? To ask me what I've been doing at night like some sort of criminal?" Something in her tone must've sounded a bit off. Harry looked up suddenly, his abashed expression giving way to a prodding look.

"Yes," he said simply, "And you didn't give us an answer," He stared at her expectantly. She scoffed at him, and waved her arms in annoyance. And let out a laugh that was supposed to be indignant, but sounded slightly nervous. Then cleared her throat loudly. Now she could feel all credibility slipping away from her grasp. Three intense gazes were focused on her, waiting for her to speak.

"Well-I-"she discreetly rubbed her sweaty palms on the inside of her robe's sleeves, "I've been studying," She winced at the flimsiness of her excuse. "For Charms. And Transfiguration," she continued. The stares she were getting now were filled with solid disbelief. Her cheeks began to burn. "Which I should be revising for right now, as a matter of fact," she said, pouncing on any opportunity to leave the awkward environment. "If I don't get an Outstanding, it'll be on your heads," she threatened darkly, and attempted to sweep out of the room.  
And failed. Ginny was casually leaning against the door.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice said, "What's been going on?"

"Nothing, really," she stammered. But then realized she was no good at lying to her friends. And then realizedshe didn't have to _lie_, exactly. She let out a sigh that sounded defeated, and lowered herself on her knees next to the flames. She hesitated before speaking, "I haven't been able to sleep very well lately, so...I've been going to the library. You know, just to keep me distracted," They all looked a bit concerned, though the majority of their worry had transformed into sympathy.

"I..erm...that's alright then. We all have some...nightmares," Ron said, looking a bit tortured. After a moment's silence he cleared his throat. "But I think you should get that checked out with Madame Pomfrey if it gets really bad. Dreamless Sleep potion, yeah?"

Hermione grinned weakly, "I'll do that," Ron smiled softly back, and cocked his head to the side. His brown eyes were full of tenderness. His hair was a bit long now, just brushing his shoulders. It looked nice. Just for a second she allowed herself to fall back into memory. Strong arms wrapped around her. A long awaited kiss.

"Need a moment alone?" Harry asked with a grin. Hermione felt a scowl pull at the corners of her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ron's sheepish look.

"I would give you two some privacy, but I think it's time for class," Ginny put in.

"What?" Hermione yelped, "Already? I still have to finish studying for-"

"Relax!" Ginny said, "You have the whole evening for that and- Oh! Right! Goodbye Harry!" Her eyes fastened on his and she grinned flirtatiously. Harry blushed, and looked nervously at Ron, who had an indignant expression fixed on his face. To Ron's credit, he ignored them, and turned to Hermione.

"Madame Pomfrey," he reminded her. She nodded. Ron disappeared from the flames, tugging Harry after him. She heard the door close soon after; Ginny must've headed to class. Hermione headed down to the Common Room tables, hurriedly collecting her books and stuffing them into her bag. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she headed out the door to Potions.

The thing was not that Hermione didn't want to tell them truth. The thing was that she couldn't bring herself to. Ron and Harry and Ginny had lost all people as well. Only for them, it had struck harder. They had lost family. She had lost friends. If she told them her sanity was failing her, she wasn't sure how they'd react. They'd had enough loss as it was. And anyhow, there was no point in telling them now. She'd made a discovery.

That night in the library, no ghosts had appeared before her. There had been no voices in the darkness. Even when she had laid her head down on the table and drifted away, nobody had crept into her dreams and asked her to follow them with a quiet, solemn hope. There had been peace. The next day, she'd crept back in the library, sitting in a deserted corner with the Invisibility Cloak pulled carefully over her body until the librarian had finally left the room. Once more, she had found restful sleep among the endless tomes and towering oak shelves. She had left that morning with a faint hope. And had returned that same night. Now she was certain. The library was a safe haven; the sanctuary it had been in first year it would be again in seventh.

* * *

Madame Pince's head poked out from between bookshelves, turning at the slightest sound. The librarian always searched the library before exiting the room. She roused those who had fallen asleep in their chairs with shoves. She sent overeager Ravenclaws scurrying to their common room with a glare. She snatched books from the grasping hands of the needy who were cramming for an exam the next day. No mercy was shown to the unfortunate souls she came across.

Hermione, however, was safe from Pince's wrath. She lay curled up in a large, bare shelf, the Invisibility Cloak laying gently on top of her. There she waited. She waited for Madame Pince's hoarse voice to fade, for the lights to dim, and for the last human presence to slip from the library. She waited to be doused in silence and solitude.

Today, the librarian was fighting a fierce battle with a sixth year student over a beat up looking Potions text.

"Five more minutes!" The student begged. "Please, Madame Pince! I just need- Just this page, I swear!"

"Give it back!" she snarled. The student cringed, but valiantly held his ground. Hermione sighed impatiently. The faint sounds of grunts, foul language, and angry screeches brushed against her ear. Finally, after a good five minutes of tug-of-war between the two, Pince surfaced with a triumphant howl, clutching the tome between her claw-like fingers. She advanced threateningly on the boy, and the student hastily retreated, fleeing to safety. After a few more minutes of stalking the aisles, Pince seemed satisfied, and strode past the huge doors, turning the corner. Finally.

Hermione wriggled to the edge of the shelf, carefully lowering herself to the stone floor. She stuffed the cloak into the pocket of her robes where the Marauders Map was hidden before heading to a nearby table, clambering onto its polished surface, and laying down. She pulled a book down from a nearby shelf and pressed her fingers against its cover, checking for softness. Satisfied, she slid it beneath her head as a makeshift pillow. As much as Hermione loved books, she needed at least six hours of sleep to function properly the next day.

But something seemed a bit off. She tossed and turned, careful not to hurt her back against the hard wood. The feeling remained. The slightest sensation. A bit of fear. It wouldn't let her be, resting a cold hand at the base of her neck. Hermione refused to give in to it, screwing her eyes shut tighter. She would not look. She would not. After all, nothing could reach her in the library. She was safe.

The feeling intensified, settling into her stomach, tightening her throat. Then something else. There was something else. In the room with her. Near her. Standing in front of her. The presence simply radiated. Her mouth went dry, but she fought off the fear, and opened her eyes to darkness. Her right hand was already holding her wand, outstretched. She paused, hesitating, before taking a breath and plunging in. "Lumos," she said.

The face the glaring light revealed was wizened and tired. The lines on his face revealed wisdom, a blackened hand showed foolishness. His twinkling eyes showed concern and love. The startling colors of his robes, a good sense of humor. Hermione choked on a sob. Once. Twice. Then she let go. Her face crumbled into grief and frustration. She lowered her wand, let the figure disappear with the light. Shaking, she turned on her side once more. She felt for the book, and gripping the edges tightly, squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe he would leave.

"Ms. Granger," he said, "Ms. Granger, is that any way to treat an old friend?" She pressed her face to the book, curling up into a tight ball. He was approaching, she could hear his shoes against the floor, growing louder. "I came here just to see you. It is a matter of utmost importance. A question you must answer."  
Hermione sat up, fear forgotten, eyes filled with fury. "I answer every night! Go away, let me sleep. I'm tired, I finally found a- a safe- and now...What? What do you want?" the previous Headmaster just stared down at her, a bit of sorrow leaking into his eyes.

"Just an answer, Ms. Granger," he said.

"But I gave one already," she replied sharply, then grimaced at her tone. She quieted. This was Professor Dumbledore, the man she had respected and followed, not a pest or annoyance. Even if he did want to bring her to the afterlife with him before she was ready to go. "I'm sorry, Professor. But I did already give an answer,"

"Quite all right, my dear," he said quietly, sitting down next to her, "I understand we've put you through much pain, though that was not our intention. I'm here to tell you a... hard truth. The others couldn't bring themselves to, and so I find it left to me,"

"Is it..." Hermione started, "Am I...mad?" The solemn face the previous Headmaster wore was the same as a 'yes' in her eyes. "I am, aren't I? It's not so- that is- I...It makes sense. I knew that already, though. I mean, I thought it already, Professor. You aren't real. None of you are. Just in my-"

"No," he said, so softly she thought for a moment he hadn't spoken.

"What?"

"No," he repeated, but then paused for a few seconds, "Well, yes. But... I have to say, I'm not sure. It's rather hard to tell when you are the one that may not be real. Now, that's not what I had to say, but it is an interesting question in itself," he mused. His eyes were twinkling madly now. Secretive as always. Delighting in his own cryptic ways. He had a surprise in store for her, she could tell. Warily, she prodded.

"So, that's not what you had to tell me, then, Professor?"

"Call me Albus," he said kindly. He fiddled with the tip of his beard. The silence stretched on for a few long seconds before he started to speak once more, "What I had to say. Will you meet with the dead again? Finally talk with them? Live among them? Come, Ms. Granger." He rose off the table, and took a step forward, waiting for her to follow. The extended hand was almost an afterthought.

"I answered this question already," Hermione insisted, "No." Albus smiled grimly.

"Ah," he said, "But there is only one answer to give."

"No," Hermione said, a sinking feeling in her stomach, "That's my answer. No. What do you mean 'there's only one answer'? Only one you will accept?" Albus shook his head.

"Only one to give," he repeated," Come."

"Of all of them...me?" she asked.

"You are the only one that couldn't accept. You still can't. Will you ever?" he said. She heard the truth in his voice. She was calling up those images. She was conjuring the dead in her imagination. No, she couldn't move on. She was mad. It would make no difference if she took the hand before her or not. So she reached, at first hesitantly. Then she leaned forwards, and brushed her fingers against his skin. Solid. Warm. Slowly, she lowered her hand onto the wrinkled palm. It felt like old parchment. Albus nodded at her once, respectfully,

"Then you will go," he said, finality in his voice.

It hit her, now, how selfish her move had been. By doing this she was deserting Harry, Ron, Ginny, her family...But Albus gave her no time to linger on these thoughts.

"They will join you, though it may take many years, they will join you," he said. "But now, you must go." She breathed out. Too late to turn back, she supposed. "You never could have," he said, as if reading her mind,

"The only way is forward." Maybe he was reading her mind. Could you use Legilimency once dead?

"Do I get to say-" her throat caught on the word. "Do I get to say goodbye?"

"No," Albus said seriously. But when she looked up, his eyes were twinkling once more, "But perhaps in a few years, you'll get the chance to say hello." Her confusion was broken by a sharp pain in her arm. The Headmaster had an iron grip on her wrist. Panicking, she tried to break free, but he had already begun to act. He swung her with a crazy grin and surprising strength. A scream rose up in her throat, but didn't have a chance to escape before she barreled into a stone wall, head first.


End file.
